Beowulf as told by Yokaichan
by yokai-chan125
Summary: My re-writing of Beowulf, the ancient anglo-saxon epic. Grendel is a lot, uh...more attractive in this version. Rated for language mostly.
1. Heorot

**Beowulf as told by Yokai-chan**

_Part 1: Heorot_

The little sign above the shop-front read "Heorot" and nothing more to advertise the ancient pub. On a normal Saturday night the small bar would have been bustling, but tonight it was ominously empty. The establishment hosted only six of what should have been thirty patrons tonight, four at the actual bar counter and two sitting at a table in the corner next to the billiards table.

"We're screwed," said the first man at the corner-table to the second as they sat slowly sipping their beers and mumbling the night away. "I can't believe you even dragged me out here tonight. Going to any bar in this town anymore is almost fucking suicidal." He glanced around suspiciously.

"Yer over-reacting," said the second man quietly. "We've been coming here forever—since we were twenty-one. Hell, before we were twenty-one! Remember those terrible fake ID's, man? I always swore that we were gonna get caught, but you always were the brave one. And we never did, ya know? Now look at you! Chill, man." He nudged his friend to get him to stop glancing nervously over his shoulder. "Stop being such a basket case!"

"Shut up. I just don't wanna be killed by that demon or whatever he is." He reflexively checked behind him again.

"'Demon'?" said the twitchy man's friend, raising his eyebrows incredulously and chuckling. "Jack, dude, don't tell me you believe all those…myths."

"So, you _don't _believe all the stories?" Jack whispered angrily. He looked almost betrayed.

"Hell no, and please don't tell me_ you_ believe all that shit people make up! I never woulda pegged you for someone to fall for a bunch of crappy ghost stories. Please tell me yer kidding…" He looked at his friend like a dismayed parent, slowly shaking his head. "Grendel's a psycho, but he's _human_. I _promise_. Shit like that just doesn't exist."

"Mel," said Jack, staring intently into the other man's opal eyes, "I met a guy who survived one of his attacks here. Said that Grendel's like nothing anyone's ever seen: he's got long black hair and red-orange eyes. His skin's gray and he's got pointy ears like an elf. And fangs. Claws and fangs. And he carries this giant sword like a samurai—,"

At this point Mel couldn't contain himself any longer and burst into a roar of hysterical laughter. "Dude, you need to stop playing WoW _now_," he guffawed, "and are you high right now? You're acting like you're high." His body shook as the laughter spiraled into silent giggles; a few tears streamed down his cheeks as he struggled to get his mirth under control.

"It's not funny, you ass!" Jack screamed, slamming his fists down on the old table and jumping up. "Everyone in this fucking town knows that Grendel's a fucking monster and if we don't do something about it we're all gonna get killed! He wipes bars and establishments out one at a time and he's tried a couple times here—and he NEVER stops until he's finished the job! NEVER! Coming here is playing with our lives! Sometimes I think LIVING in this TOWN is plain fucking crazy! Some say he wants to take the whole city over!"

By now every soul in the little tavern, whether sober or drunk out of their mind, turned to stare at the shrieking young man in the corner, waving and pounding his fists and spewing profanities at his friend. The place remained deathly quiet for a few awkward seconds after the outburst.

"Wow," said the young woman behind the bar, still holding a glass for an order taking before the yelling. "Take the whole city…?"

"Yes!" squawked Jack. "And don't you all start calling me crazy now! I'm _not_!"

Mel simply looked at his friend like he'd lost it.

"I thought he just wanted chaos," mused the girl, seemingly unfazed at being yelled at. As a bartender she had to deal with a lot. "I never thought he was actually planning something."

"What do you know about him?" asked Jack sheepishly, now feeling guilty about snapping at her. She was, in fact, lending credibility to his strange rant.

"Mmm, not much," she admitted. "I've only seen him once and I was trying to hide at the time. But you're right about the hair and the sword. And the way he moves—he is most definitely not human. Or at least not like anyone I've ever seen…" she trailed off, still staying surprisingly calm.

"You saw him?" gasped Jack.

"He _has_ attacked here before. And I do _work _here," said the bartender. "And yes, last week he attacked when I was here. Killed three men while I hid behind the counter." Her eyes momentarily flashed pain and fear through her tough façade, so quickly one had to wonder if they'd actually see it or if they simply wanted to.

"And you came _back_?" said Mel.

"I need the money," said the bartender softly, turning slightly away. "And…and I hear he usually doesn't kill women…unless they fight back."

"You're still a brave girl indeed!" said an old man at the counter, draining his glass. "I'll have another."

"_Jack Daniels_ again?" the lady muttered.

"Of course, my dear," the old man replied.

"A chivalrous devil?" muttered Mel so softly only Jack could hear.

"Yeah right," replied his friend. "That chick's just lucky."


	2. Grendel

_Part 2: Grendel_

Grendel sat in a ragged, old—yet surprisingly comfortable—leather armchair, smiling pleasantly to himself. His smirking grin nicely displayed his fangs, and he swept his cobalt hair out of his face with a clawed hand absentmindedly as he thought. Yes, tonight would be perfect. The moon was barely a sliver—dark for humans, but still wonderfully bright for a Cambion. His smile fell slightly as he thought of what he was: rejected by demons, feared by humans, and simply for being a mixture of the two. He sighed. Humans had always called him "devil" and demons referred to him as "that stupid human"; the only one who really loved him was his mother, and she couldn't do much for him at this point. She had been ostracized and kicked out of the demon community long ago for such treacherous behavior as loving a mortal. And she had. She had loved Grendel's father more than she had loved her sense of belonging and had eloped with him three-hundred and fifty years ago in the mid-17th century. Now it was nearly 2010 and he had long been buried, but still she refused to take another mate, demon or human, claiming her love for him would never die, that she would never love another throughout the remainder of her long life. Grendel often wondered if this was all for his sake, but tried not to think about it. He prayed it was not a sacrifice to make him feel worthwhile; the guilt stemming off that concept burned him like fire. He also knew that it would be fruitless on her part. He would never be accepted.

And so he had given up, turning to a life of darkness and crime. He yearned for the power that might make him acceptable to other demons, but due to his limitations the going was slow. He lived in hiding amongst the human population, as no full demons would ever challenge him or even let him near them, and so taking a human city seemed his only option to impress. Evil yes, but if it could prove him to be valuable—strong and worthy—then it was worth it…right? Sometimes he didn't even know any more. His mother tried to support him, but he knew that she felt his terrible accomplishments were wrong. And somewhere in his heart he knew she was right. _Why does she even still love me?_ he often wondered. It broke his heart, more than that if she too had abandoned him. For that he would understand.

"Grendel, sir?" a voice called through the closed door and darkness of the room. "May I come in?"

"Yes, Leah," said the Cambion. He almost added, _And you don't have to call me 'sir,'_ but stopped himself. Leah was his servant after all.

As she opened the door light flooded into the room from the hallway, bathing the somber half-demon in a soft and strangely angelic glow. His smooth black hair gleamed and his orange eyes twinkled as he looked up at the sweet human girl crossing the room.

"Your dinner," she said as she sat a tray down on the coffee table in front of him. "Would you like me to turn on the light?"

"No thanks." He looked at the food. He wasn't hungry, but he'd eat.

"OK, sir." She began to walk away.

"Leah," she called softly.

"Yes, sir?" She turned around.

"Uh, this looks really good," he mumbled.

"Thank you very much, sir. I try my best." She walked out, shutting the door softly behind her.

_Why?_ he thought sadly, _Why, Leah? Why do you associate yourself with me? You could be doing so many better things than helping a demonic crime-lord right now. You could have a good life. You…could be normal._ _Why would you give that all up…for me?_ He felt a strange feeling rise up in his throat; it felt almost like he was choking. He grabbed the drink off his tray and hurriedly took a gulp to drown the strange sensation away, fluttering his eyelids rapidly to blink away the wetness. _Allergies, perhaps?_ he mused.


End file.
